


Riding the Bull

by Duchess_of_Wallace



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Explicit Consent, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, One Shot, Plotbunnies, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchess_of_Wallace/pseuds/Duchess_of_Wallace
Summary: Cullen is dealing with the stress of lyrium withdrawal, becoming a royal terror to everyone he comes across.Iron Bull offers auniquesolution for some temporary relief.This is shamelessly smutty, with just enough plot to pretend like we have self respect. Some light D/s and some consensual bondage and awhole lotof a good time.





	Riding the Bull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KissTheCrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheCrown/gifts).



> First and foremost - this is dedicated to KissTheCrown, who is prepared to receive the blame for the plot bunnies. The blame for any errors or anything, though, fully belongs to me. I hope you enjoy, dear!
> 
> This is in no way connected to Andraste’s Inquisitor, even though both Bull and Cullen are in the polysphere with the Quizzie. Or, ok, this is _probably_ not connected to AI, I haven't honestly decided yet, but we'll see.  
> What this _is_ is a smutty one-shot simply for gratuitous Templar begging, because I can’t currently get the image of our Commander all trussed up and aquiver and…
> 
>  _Save it for the work, Duchess. Go take a cold shower please._
> 
> Finally, a note here. This is the first time I’ve publicly posted smut. Like… ever. Consider it maybe a practice run for future AI chapters, maybe. Either way, be kind my darlings, but please let me know what you think!

Cullen was restless. That was nothing new, but this time he was pacing the battlements of Skyhold like a caged tiger and snapping at anyone who came too close. His underlings went scurrying to avoid a tongue lashing, jumping to even _appear_ busy, dreading to be the one that had to approach him when a missive came through. 

He didn’t mean to lash out - he knew his anger was misdirected - but the _singing_ of the lyrium need underneath his skin was maddening, the itching ache that made him want to claw his own flesh off for some _Maker-blessed relief_ forcing him to push himself further, harder - couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t _stop_ , had to do as much as possible before the craving broke him and he had to step aside…

It was harsh words to one of Leliana’s runners that brought the matter to the Spymaster’s attention, and it was she who mentioned it to Cassandra, knowing the history between the two of them made her much more likely for Cullen to confide in. Cassandra _did_ know what was wrong… she just didn’t know what to _do_ about it. His ability to command wasn’t yet compromised, but it was obvious to the Seeker that he was spiraling rapidly. She wasn’t one of those sit and talk about _feelings_ people - Josephine was the talker, even the _Inquisitor_ was all about asking how to help. Cassandra _hit things_ , that’s how she worked out her own issues, but that wouldn’t help Cullen now.

So, feeling helpless, Cassandra did what she did best - she went to the training yard and began _hitting things_. 

That’s where The Iron Bull found her, pummelling the training dummies, coated in sweat as she worked out her aggression. “ _Damn_ Seeker - I like being hit under the right circumstances, but you’re making me feel sorry for that target… What did it do to piss you off so gloriously?”

Cassandra let her sword droop, catching her breath and considering. It was… strange to call Iron Bull a _people person_ , but his Ben Hassrath training made him unique, and it was obvious by the way he deftly handled his Chargers that he understood warriors and what made them tick. He was also… surprisingly discreet, when it suited him. More than that, there was a camaraderie between Bull and Cullen, the men respecting each other as soldiers. She didn’t want to betray Cullen’s trust, but if _something_ wasn’t done, they were going to lose their Commander - and he was one of the pillars holding up both the Inquisitor and the Inquisition itself.

“It’s not the dummy, it’s…” She turned to face The Iron Bull, who had draped his large frame over the fence, seemingly both completely at ease and ready to move in an instant. No one else was within earshot, so she gathered herself and pushed forward - Maker and Cullen forgive her. “It’s the Commander. He’s under a lot of stress recently - I cannot explain why, that is up to him if he is willing - but I am unsure how to _help_ him, so…” 

“So you’re pummelling that poor, defenseless target until you figure something out? I gotta say, Seeker, that’s one of the _hottest_ …”

Her scoff and disgusted eye roll caused Bull to laugh - but he could see the tension seeping out of her shoulders, which was his intent. He respected the Seeker, and _hell yes_ he’d let her ride the Bull if she ever decided she wanted to, but they both knew his harmless flirting was exactly that, harmless: a way they could let off steam and she could stretch that hidden passionate side she kept locked so firmly away. 

Right now, though, it was Cullen who needed his particular attention. He had seen the frantic pacing of the Commander over Skyhold’s walls, had heard him barking at his underlings. He could guess at the source of his stress - he’d fought both with and against Templars as a mercenary and knew of their lyrium draughts, and after Seheron, well… Little crossed race or station better than withdrawal symptoms. It wasn’t hard to put together. 

Cullen was… an interesting case. True, the man was _gorgeous_ \- sweat glistening over his broad shoulders and his blond curls shining in the morning sun after a run across the training yard had featured in more than one of Bull’s fantasies. The Commander had never shown an interest in men, not openly at least, but Bull had picked up on an occasional glance lasting a _bit_ longer than socially acceptable while he was training his Chargers - and he _never_ missed a chance to slow flex and show off the goods where the Commander could see.

There was respect there, too. Cullen had turned a motley assortment of refugees, mercs, and warriors into a cohesive fighting unit. His men followed him because he was _honorable_ , he was trustworthy, he was a _good man_ … though Bull could tell that Cullen himself didn’t see it, still haunted by his own battle scars, still fighting a war in his own head, one that only he could face.

Bull couldn’t fight his battle for him… but he _could_ offer some respite. He could give the Commander what he needed - he could _take control_ , for just a moment, and give him a chance to regain his footing. 

“Leave it to me, Seeker. I got this one.”

~~~

The _singing_ in his skin was reaching a fever pitch. He was finally, _blessedly_ alone for a moment, away from the constant pressure of the men around him, but instead of peace it redoubled the longing in his blood. He needed a _distraction_ , or maybe a hard drink…

Or just some _Maker-damned lyrium_ …

In a fruitless fit of rage, he turned to throw the book in his hand at the doorway, just as it opened - barely missing the horned head of Iron Bull. For a moment, they both stared at each other, Cullen’s expression one of frozen uncertainty, Iron Bull’s one of predatory consideration… before Bull’s wide mouth split into a grin and he burst out laughing. “You know, in some places, that’s considered foreplay. Need to get a bit more force behind that swing if you want to get into _these_ breeches, though. I may be easy, but standards are _standards_.”

Spluttered indignation warred with steaming blush, but spluttered indignation died away as Bull languidly stretched, starting by rotating his neck and working in ripples down his broad chest. He knew _exactly_ the image he made - if this were a barmaid, she’d be chucking her smalls at him about now. This wasn’t, though - Cullen was a _friend_ , not just a conquest. More than that, Cullen would require a deft touch - pushing the _right_ way, caringly, _purposefully_ … 

He’s rendered the Commander temporarily silent, the bright gaze following the ripple of muscles as it traveled downward, touching the top of his breeches… before darting back up. The deep red on his face was _glorious_ \- really, the man’s blushes were legendary - and Bull found himself wondering if he could replicate that cherry red on the cheeks of his ass…

Maybe, maybe not, but _fuck yeah_ he would try.

“So, listen. I’ve caught the hints. I’ve seen you watching. You want to ride the Bull. Can’t say I blame you, but I’m not sure you know what you’re wanting yet. Hell, I’m not sure you know enough to know _what_ you want yet, and when we do _that_ , well - you’ll have to be ready to mount up and hold on. What I’m offering you instead is… a little stress relief between friends. You’ve been scaring the underlings lately, they’re afraid you’re gonna bite. Well, lucky for you the Iron Bull _likes_ biting… and you’ll have to bite _hard_ to get me to take notice.”

Cullen didn’t say anything… but didn’t throw him out, either. There was… curiosity in his eyes, consideration. No, he’d never been with a man before, he didn’t consider men in that way. But this was _the Iron Bull_ , it would be lying to say he’d never… _admired_ the movement of those broad shoulders. _Everyone_ admired the movement of those broad shoulders.

... and Bull knew it, too. There really was no point in denying it. Besides… at this point, he was _desperate_ , and anything that would even temporarily quiet the maddening hum in his skin was worth consideration.

Cullen let out a soft breath. “Do you… know what’s going on?”

Iron Bull studied him - both without judgement and without pity, which was good because at the first hint of either he was tossing the Bull out on his large horned ass - before answering. “I can guess. I’ve known a few Templars in my time. I’ve also known a few addicts in my time. How long has it been?”

“Since before Haven. Since Kirkwall.”

Bull nodded, and Cullen saw something - _understanding_. He knew something of the Qunari’s history in Seheron, knew that if _anyone_ could understand the war going on inside him right now it was Bull. Very well then. “So… what are you offering? How does this work?”

Bull stalked forward, and he unconsciously stepped back, his back bumping into the bookshelf. He stiffened, his training snapping in, unwilling to show weakness before an adversary.

“You have a need. And I can _meet_ that need. You need a place where you can be safe, knowing someone else is in control for a bit, someone else is in charge. But there are some ground rules, just so everyone’s on the same page. I will _never_ hurt you without your permission, never do something you are unwilling to do, never push harder than you are willing to go. You will _always_ be safe. If you are ever uncomfortable, ever want to stop, you say ‘katoh,’ and it’s over, no questions asked. Outside of this room, nothing changes. You’re the Commander of the Inquisition, a fellow soldier and comrade in arms, and I’m The Iron Bull. _Inside_ this room, when you have a need I can meet, well…”

Cullen swallowed several times, trying to bring moisture back to his suddenly dry mouth. “You… seem to have this down to a system.”

“Systems are comfortable. And my goal…” Bull’s already gravelly voice dropped as he leaned in to Cullen’s ear, almost whispering, “is for you to get _very_ comfortable.” 

Unable to stop the shiver that traveled down his spine, Cullen nodded. He _did_ trust the Qunari - enough to protect the Inquisitor while they were away, certainly. Stress relief between friends… it didn’t have to mean anything, it didn’t have to _be_ anything... “This doesn’t change anything?”

“Not unless you want it to.” 

Finally Cullen nodded. He could stop this at any time, he trusted Bull… it was worth a shot.

Slowly - giving him enough warning to see what was going to happen - Bull took Cullen’s wrists into his hands, lifting them above his head, effectively pinning him against the bookshelf. He stopped at Cullen’s gasp - _not_ a gasp of pleasure, but of concern, his eyes starting to go a bit hazy as a memory reached out to grab him. Keeping both wrists in one hand, Bull lowered his other to stroke the Commander’s chin, bringing his gaze back. “You’re safe here, Cullen. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. All I’m gonna do is make you feel _good_ … and we’ll take all the time you need to let go.”

Cullen forced himself to unclench before cautiously lifting up to press his mouth against Bull’s. It was… very different from a woman, the roughness of Bull’s hair scraping against his jaw, but it certainly wasn’t _unpleasant_ … Bull took control of the kiss, tilting his head back, teeth scraping against his bottom lip. Oh _Maker_ , not unpleasant at all.

Bull pulled him away from the bookcase, leading him slowly to the center of the room. Without words, he lifted a set of ropes, showing them to the Commander, his intention plain. The hesitation crept back, a bit, but Cullen fought it back down. This was ok, this was safe… this was certainly _interesting_ , and the slight hardening between his legs was reminding him it had been a _very_ long time since he’d had contact of that sort - enough that he knew if he stopped now his hand would be a poor replacement. Again he nodded, allowing Bull to maneuver him into whatever position he was after. 

Carefully, _gently_ , Bull wrapped his wrists in cloth, to prevent the braided rope from chafing. The knot looked more complicated than it was, but came with a trick Cullen found _extremely_ comforting - probably Bull’s intent, as he showed him how to free himself if necessary with a tug in the right place. It was restraint, but also the _semblance_ of restraint - and that fact more than anything yet allowed him to fully let go of his apprehension, sinking himself into whatever Bull had planned. Bull finished with his arms stretched out to either side, allowing him the ability to squirm but _not_ the ability to touch… which was distracting, as _touching_ was starting to become necessary, his stiffness becoming uncomfortable in his breeches.

“Comfy?” came the rumble behind him. 

Cullen shifted, testing the pull of the ropes. “Yes, I-”

A sudden swat to his ass, _just_ this side of painful, made him jump and yelp. He turned startled eyes to a smirking Bull. “Did… did you just _spank_ me?”

A large hand rubbed his stinging lower cheek. “Yep… and you _liked it_.”

And _Maker_ that’s true, a second sharp swat following, and his hips slightly rock forward, his cock _painfully_ hard. He yelps again, but this one is _just_ a bit closer to moan. 

“By the way - and don’t worry, I’ll remind you if you forget - but the proper response is yes, _Sir_.”

“Ah… y-yes - yes, Sir?”

Bull pats his ass with a chuckle, before coming to stand in front of him. Long fingers begin to open his mantle and tunic, running a firm hand over his skin. It’s not soft enough to risk tickling, but not firm enough to be rough or painful - there enough to be _interesting_ , there enough for there to be no question who was touching him. It could be no one else, no _where_ else. 

The stroking down his torso is… calming, somehow, and his eyes close as he relaxes into the touch. A sudden, unexpected flitting caress across his nipple makes him gasp, and the immediately answering sharp smack to his ass makes him _whine_ , a noise he’s _never_ made before, though Bull seems to enjoy it if the groan at his ear is anything to go by. 

But _Maker_ there’s no way to think as Bull slowly circles each nipple with a broad fingertip, shocking him with an occasional pinch between languid stroking. 

When large hands finally lower to his breeches, he’s gasping, squirming, and _uncomfortably_ hard, but Bull just slowly strips his clothing down, running his hands down Cullen’s legs but not yet touching him where he wanted it most. 

Bull sinks to his knees to finish stripping him, and Culling thinks for a wild moment that he’s going to take him into his mouth, his dick jumping at the thought, his hips jerking forward slightly. The laugh that rumbles out shows that Bull caught the direction of his thoughts. “You’re a pretty sight and a fast learner, Cullen… but you have to be a _very_ good boy to get Ol’ Iron Bull on his knees.”

The stroking hands are back - over his legs, over his ass - but instead of comforting, this time it’s _maddening_ , ratcheting up his desire while doing _nothing_ to address it. The interspersed swats to his ass are making his knees buckle, desperate for friction of _any_ kind, jerking his arms uselessly against the ropes. His breath comes in gasps as he writhes.

He thought there could be no more torment, but when Bull started _talking_ he realized how very wrong he was. 

“You love it, me spanking that beautiful ass of yours, making it as red as your face. Being in my grasp. Making you _whine_. But we’re not done here, pet… I know what you _need_ , but don’t think I’ve forgotten you throwing that book at me earlier. You’re gonna have to _beg_ for it. I know you’re going to try to hold out, to be the _Commander_ … do you like it, Cullen, _commanding_ all your men? Shouting an order and watching them jump? You think I haven’t seen you watching when you _command_ the Bull to do your bidding?”

Bull’s hand finally - _finally_ \- reached between his legs, but all he offers is one long, slow tug along his length, nowhere _near_ enough. “So _hard_ , our Commander. So _firm_ , expecting them to obey without question. So you like watching them, pet? Watching them _train_ , _sweat_ for you, _obey_ you…” His hand starts moving faster, firmer, as he talks, Cullen’s breath coming in pants as he arches, almost there, right at the edge… before fingers circle his base, clinching, stopping him, pulling him back from release. He cried out in a desperate mix of pleasure and pain, he was _almost there_ , almost ripping at his restraints to be able to _touch himself_ , to touch Bull, to _get relief_ … “ _Please_ Bull…” came the desperate moan.

A hard swat made him yelp, the hand leaving his aching dick. “You will.” Swat. “Address me.” Swat. “As _Sir_.” Swat.

“Y...yes _Sir_ ” the snap in his voice - one that he would normally reserve for ornery captains back in his Templar days, made Bull laugh. “Oh, that’s _good_ …” Bull started slowly stroking him and the defiance evaporated as he almost sobbed in relief. “Almost good enough for me to forget you snapping at everyone earlier, even. But you haven’t been taking care of yourself, pet. You don’t want to have to make me -” his hand stilled, and Cullen whined, almost mindless with need, unable to form words, “- _punish_ you, do you, pet? You aren’t going to keep this up… _are_ you?”

“No - oh _Maker_ \- no Sir, _please_ …”

Bull’s rich laugh vibrates from behind him. He’s shaking, leaking precome, harder than he’s possibly _ever_ been. “Please Bu - uh - Sir. _Please_. I - I need…”

“What do you _need_?” The deep, gravelly voice made him moan, Bull’s firm chest against his back, feeling Bull’s hardness against his ass. He can’t hold back, arching into the hand on him, rocking back wantonly against the firmness behind him, _anything_. “Need _you_ , Sir - _please_ \- need you to touch me… need to come - _sweet Maker please fuck me_.”

A groan answered him. “ _Fuck_ you’re so beautiful like this, begging for me, _aching_ for it… if I thought you were ready, I’d breach that virgin ass of yours, make you scream for me, show you how good it can _really_ get… You’ll still scream for me, though, pet - don’t you worry about that.”

His hand finally speeds back up, twisting, gripping in _just_ the right way, his other hand reaching down to lightly grip Cullen’s balls, firm arms holding him steady as a pumping fist milks him…

Cullen comes with a shuddering cry, starbursts behind his eyes, helpless in Bull’s grip, going completely limp once spent. 

He stirs as Bull moves, but a hand never leaves him, comforting in its solidity as Bull gently cleans him up, untying him, lifting him and carrying him over to his bed. The large warmth of Bull wrapping around him caused him to lift his head, turning to look at the Qunari in surprise. “Bull?

“Easy Cullen. You need rest. More than that, you need to know someone cares. _I_ care. The _Inquisitor_ cares. _Cassandra_ cares - though maybe in a _different_ way, heh… Most importantly, though, you need to know you’re _not alone._ I’m here for you, the Inquisitor is here for you… _Whatever_ you’re going through, you don’t have to face it by yourself. You’re a good man, Cullen, and I’m not going to let you forget that.”

Emotion overcomes him then, but Bull just pulls him close, a comforting presence - a _friend_. Sleep comes, and he relaxes into Bull’s arms, calm for the first time in… a _very_ long time.

~~~

The next morning is less awkward than it could be - than it probably _should_ be - and that is entirely because of Bull, his infectious humor and _loud_ personality not leaving room for any potential discomfort. It’s no longer pet and Sir, once again Cullen and Bull, respected Commander and sassy mercenary. Bull has to get back to his Chargers before heading out with the Inquisitor and Cullen has a _mountain_ of tasks to handle - no rest for the weary.

Before Bull leaves, though, Cullen has one pressing question he just _has_ to ask. “Um… Bull. Last night, before.. Um. Well, you said…ah. _I_ said…” Unconsciously his hand went to rest on his hip. He’s never been with a man… but what was maybe a passing curiosity before had developed into a _wonder_ …

As always, Bull seems to know _exactly_ what he means. A wicked, almost frightening grin blossoms across his face, echoes of the night before, reaching out to slowly run a caressing finger along the edge of his desk, before roguishly winking. “Maybe next time, Commander… if you’re _good_ …”

Bull’s roaring laugh follows him out the door, Cullen working to regain his composure, the bright flush in his cheeks telling as his imagination works overtime to picture what Bull might be thinking…

The desk where all of his missives and tallies were now stacked, the desk he had to _work at_ …

Oh _Maker_...


End file.
